


Awakening

by aphrodite_mine



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 1602
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-12
Updated: 2007-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 22:40:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2127198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphrodite_mine/pseuds/aphrodite_mine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She will always rise again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> The italic portions are meant to quote/echo the voice over of the short film "The Perfect Human" by Jorgen Leth.

She rises from the sea, sunlight arcing behind her naked form in rays of golden light. She doesn't remember how she came to be here, sand encrusted in her hair, seaweed under her toes. She can't recall who she is, her name is somewhere beyond the rising sun. She can still see the stars beyond the fading darkness; darkness that is fading quickly now from her mind which has been sleeping for a fortnight.

She can feel them all; all of the humans and all of the witchbreed are within her and without her. Surrounding her, as she is surrounding them. All at once, she feels them. Each has a distinct noise, a sound that echoes into life.

She is taking shape, regaining form. Becoming. Her naked breasts glisten as the salt from the sea dries on them, the water falls away.

_This is the perfect human. This is the perfect human. Look at her._

She steps towards the town, flames in her eyes, feeling the energy that is within and without her. She has been sleeping for so long; a moon has waxed and waned; and now the power burns within her. She must destroy.

She feels them all. She feels the fallen ones just beginning to take root. The sister who sees; her brother, the quick one. The leader with his broken body, and the students, each with their gifts. She sees the past and she sees the future but she does not see herself, never sees that being which has claimed her body, never calls it by its name.

"John Grey?" She hears him but does not look up. She already sees his wings, his thrumming heart. He doesn't know what else to call her. She smiles.

_How does the perfect human walk? She walks like this. Like this. Watch how she moves._

He circles above her like a vulture, as if he doesn't know yet whether his prey is dead. She is very much alive. She is placing one bare foot in front of the other, making impressions in the damp sand. Werner drops down from the sky to look closer; he does not yet believe.

She walks slowly; there is no need to rush. He folds his wings and falls into step beside her, trying to think of a question. "I am going to see Javier," she says, smiling a little because she can feel his blood speed up, and she thinks of how little effort it would take to stop it all.

"You're not John though, I saw John Grey die…" He touches her shoulder and she feels it burn.

She does not look at him. "I know," she says.

_Now we must examine the perfect human. An eye. A leg._

They reach the newly erected gates of the College, her hair now beginning to flow freely in the light breeze. There is a glow to her skin, like one newly born. The gates are opened with less than a blink of her eyes, the fire in the barely flaring. She is bored by this countryside, she is bored by this present company.

She feels Werner's confusion. John Grey is dead, and he is averting his eyes. He has no cloak to offer.  
The witchbreed are nearby, exercising their skills which the Old World has shunned and the New World has embraced, embracing their freedom in the early morning sunlight. "I shall tell them of your arrival," Werner says, and takes to flight.

She watches, amused for a moment, at the first few flaps of his glorious white wings. "No need," she replies softly, for she does not really intend for the words to reach his ears, "For I shall let them know myself."  
His comrades watch him fall, the broken angel.

_But what is the perfect human thinking?_

She feels them all. Petros reaches the body first, stirring up leaves and dust in his rush. Werner has fallen face down to the dirt, his wings like a cocoon over his body. Petros crouches down next to him and parts the white curtain and sees the ashen face. He crosses himself, though he is not a holy man.

"Scotius!" he calls, his voice breaking.

The others come running, Scotius' visor glinting in the sun. Robert speeds his way by icing his path. Wanda is slowed by her long gown, though she has abandoned her habit.

"What is it Petros?" Robert asks when he is close enough to see the fallen figure of his friend. "Are the leather-wings nearby? Is he wounded?"

Scotius just stands, casting a long shadow over Werner's form. "He's dead," he says, his voice flat and giving nothing away.

_What is the texture of the skin? Is it soft to the touch?_

Wanda is the first to notice her. She is on the outside of the huddle, hands clasped, peering over her brother's shoulder. The nude form of a stranger is startling, with the sun rising behind her, hair flying like fire from her serene face. She touches Petros' shoulder and makes a soft sound.

He turns, "Yes, sister?" watching where she points, to the figure at the gate.

"What devil is this?" Wanda murmurs, clutching her brother's arm.

"No marks on his body… t'weren’t a natural thing that killed him," says Robert, sitting back on his haunches, too late realizing that the attention is no longer on Werner, but on the godlike form approaching.

"Scotius Summerisle," she says, a faint smile playing at her lips.

His mouth goes dry, looking quickly from her to the crumpled wings on the dust. "Jeanne," he says, unsure of why he takes a step back.

_Today I too experienced something which I hope to understand in a few days._

The blue beast emerges from the main building, cradling Javier in his giant arms.

Javier sees her standing in the courtyard, his changing ones gathered around. "I was afraid it would come to this," he says.


End file.
